


Corvus

by andquitefrankly



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Cowboys!, GOD I LOVE WESTERNS, M/M, MCU AU Fest, and thor's just looking for his brother, loki's an outlaw, steve is a marshal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:28:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stranger wanders into town, outsider written all over him, looking for his brother. The Marshal brings him under his wing, and together, Steve and Thor go on a journey to find the outlaw: Loki Laufeyson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corvus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildAndFreeHearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildAndFreeHearts/gifts).



> AUGH!  
> You don't understand how much I love westerns and cowboys and the minute I saw this was a requested prompt I fainted dead away. The crazy research I did ;)  
> This isn't a ship I normally write, but it was fun, and hopefully it's not too disappointing. WildAndFreeHearts, I am aware you wanted some smutty goodness, but alas, I cannot write smut. So please take this and enjoy it for what it is.  
> Characterizations: So Steve is a cowboy, so his talking and even the way he acts isn't necessarily how he'd normally talk and act, but I tried to keep his core personality in tact. Thor's main motivation in this is his brother, and considering it's the late 19th century, he's much more restrained in his actions. He grew up in Victorian England, so he isn't going to be rushing headlong into fights or partying hardcore.  
> That all said: ENJOY!!

**1876**

If he hadn’t had a strange way of speaking, his fancy horse was enough to call him out as an outsider.

That pony was enough to make a grown cry. Wasn’t decent, that horse, the townsfolk murmured. No sir, that horse was the type most of the boys had seen pictures of; high class girls on side saddles, jumping over little bars for show.

Most in that small Utah town had never seen what $500 dollars worth of good breeding looked like. They had Appaloosas and Mustangs. But that – well that was a Thoroughbred if ever they had seen one. And what a Thoroughbred was doing riding into town with a fancy Englishman, well that was that Rogers had been called to find out.

As town Marshal, Steve Rogers was the perfect man for the job.

He was the only man for the job.

The fancy horse was tied up just outside the saloon, the other horses giving the mare a wide berth, the sweet thing whinnying at Rogers as he walked past. He patted her head and slipped her a few oats, leftover from when he had fed his own stallion earlier that day.

The doors swung closed behind the marshal as he stepped in, eyes adjusting to the smoky atmosphere, gas lights flickering against the walls. The townsfolk all looked up at him, before turning their attention to the bar where the stranger stood, knocking back a cactus juice.

He was built like a bison, the stranger was, all muscle and mass, with a tangle of blonde locks, every inch of him covered in dust. Weren’t a fancy thing about him, if Rogers was being honest, ‘cept of course for that horse. But that horse was enough to cause trouble, and Rogers did not like trouble. 

“What’ll you have, Marshal?” the bartender asked, pulling out Rogers' usual as he neared.

Steve slid in beside the stranger, setting his hat down on the bar, a pleasant smile accentuating his boyish charms. “I’ll have what this here gentleman’s having,” Rogers replied, turning his smile on the stranger. “That your mare out there? She’s a real beaut.”

Drink set before him, Rogers raised his glass and winked at the man. “Bottom’s up.”

“So you're the Marshal,” the stranger said, taking in an eyeful of Rogers, no doubt sizing him up whilst Steve did the same of him; his brawn contrasted with his smooth English accent, Steve noted. And to the stranger, Rogers was certain he looked a little too golden eyed to be the marshal of a rough town like this one.

Rogers set his glass down, taking a coin out his pocket and placing it on the bar. “Why I wear this here star,” Rogers responded,  pulling at his lapel and showing off his shiny, metal badge. “How may I be of assistance, friend?”

“Odinson,” the stranger replied, holding out his hand in greeting. “Thor Odinson.”

“Steve Rogers.”

“I’m looking for a man, Marshal,” Odinson continued, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket. Steve carefully unfolded the sheet, only to find a crude drawing of Loki Laufeyson glaring back at him.

The highwayman had a price of $3000 on his head. Didn’t lead a gang or anything of the sort. Just a one man bandit. He was ruthless, killing anyone who got in his way, robbing trains and stage coaches. Some said he lived out in the desert like an Injun, others said he holed himself up in a cave somewhere.

No one really knew much about him, aside from the fact that he had hair darker than night, and was fast on the draw. Any drawing of him was pure deduction.

“Not to dissuade you, Odinson,” Rogers said. “But your life ain’t worth that reward.” More than enough men had come to town looking for Loki, hoping to make a quick buck. All they ended up with was a slug between the eyes.

Thor Odinson chuckled sadly into his empty glass. He shifted closer to the marshal, keeping his eyes on the door as he whispered, so as not to attract eavesdroppers, “He’s my brother.”

Steve stilled for a moment, staring down at the paper. There weren’t too many facial similarities, but this was a drawing; it was mighty tough photographing that man. He had faced Loki down once or twice, failing each time, but not dying, and at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered to these folks. It pained Rogers to admit it, but sometimes his life was more important than getting the criminals behind bars.

 If Thor said it was his brother, then Steve was going to believe him. “Well then, it seems you came to right place, friend.”

* * *

**1872**

“Go, go, go!” Loki yelled at the filly, Empress of India, holding his hat tightly in his hands. Thor stood beside him, shouting just as loudly, upsetting the other guests.

Once the race was won and Loki had a thick wallet, Thor wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Well won, Loki.”

Loki pushed Thor away, a grin on his face. “It was close. Did you see Cactus Flower fly? Those American’s know how to breed a horse.”

Thor scrunched his face. “That ugly buckskin thing? Hardly a horse.”

“Perhaps not good enough on your fox hunts, brother,” Loki replied. “But can she fly.”

That evening, Thor found Loki sitting in the gardens, skipping stones across the pond, a half empty bottle of champagne by his feet . “I think I’ll go to America,” Loki mused, taking a swig of champagne, the drink dripping from his mouth. Should their mother see him, she would no doubt fly into hysterics.

Thor snatched the bottle and took a long draught, taking off his shoes and dipping his toes in the water. “And what will you do over there?”

“I’ll become rich,” Loki declared boisterously, teetering slightly as he walked atop the rocks, circling the pond. He nearly stumbled, but righted himself, all easy smiles.

“We’re already wealthy.”

Loki sneered, throwing a pebble at Thor’s head, once again nearly stumbling. “That’s father’s wealth,” Loki spat. “I’m going to make a name for myself. Whenever anyone hears my name, they're going to quake with fear, my dear brother, I’m so important.” He sat down beside Thor, hands moving animatedly, as he continued, voice lowered, “There’s gold in California. Copper in Arizona, Silver in Nevada; there’s coal and iron and I hear you can pluck your wealth from the very ground out in the west.”

“Those are just stories,” Thor told Loki, not pleased with having to burst Loki’s bubble, but knowing he had to do so. The thought of the land overflowing with riches was pure imagination. It was unfeasible.

“They’re true,” Loki insisted, and Thor couldn’t find it in himself to argue.

* * *

**1876**

“You’re gonna have to sell her,” Rogers said, running his fingers through the mane of Odinson’s mare. She was a gorgeous thing, and Steve knew he’d probably never see another horse as well bred as this one. It would be a shame, but it had to be done. 

Thor shook his head, grabbing his saddle and placing it atop Mjolnir, the mare whinnying at him. “I don’t plan on doing that. She’s a good horse.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” Steve replied. He cringed at the English saddle, unable to imagine how the man had traveled this far with such mediocre equipment. “You gonna keep this girl, you gotta fit her right.” Steve grinned, elbowing Thor in the side. “And yourself too.”

By the time Steve was done with him, Thor looked like a real man of the west. He was every inch a cowboy, if it weren’t for that horse or that accent. His clothes pulled at all the right places, defining those muscles rather than poorly hiding them while wearing a fancy suit. Thor had boots and a kerchief and a decent hat. And Mjolnir got a real saddle and bridle, none of that highbrow business Odinson thought would get him across this Utah terrain.

Steve would readily admit, Odinson looked good. 

“My deputy marshal was killed some months back,” Rogers told Odinson, handing over a badge. “People’ll ask questions, and if you show them this, they’ll stop asking right quick.”

Thor took the badge and pinned it to his vest. “How soon can we start looking for Loki?”

“Well… we can wait around,” Rogers told him, leading Thor back to the jailhouse, tilting his hat and smiling at the ladies he passed. He gave a nod of acknowledgment to the men, and Thor was surprised how the greetings of the town folk were extended to him as well. The badge really did quell the questions. “He rides in every once in a while,” Steve continued, “but that could be days or weeks from now, and I have a feeling you ain’t a patient one.”

“I need to bring him home,” Thor confirmed.

Rogers held the door open to the jailhouse, leading Thor inside. He threw off his hat and ruffled a hand through his neatly combed hair. He grabbed his carbine, and slung it over his shoulder. “Well then we’d best be off.”

He led Thor back out the jailhouse, and Thor waited outside the dry goods store as the marshal explained to the Mayor he’d be gone for a spell, along with his new deputy. That done, Rogers led Odinson back to his small cabin where they grabbed weapons and food.

“You got a gun?” Steve asked, inspecting his old man’s Colt.

Thor nodded, pulling his pistol from his holster and handing it over to the marshal for inspection. Steve took one look and laughed. “What the hell is this?” Steve asked. He held it in his hand, inspecting it this way and that. “Funniest gun I’ve ever seen,” Steve chuckled, but handed it back.

“Best revolver back home,” Thor replied, not insulted in the least. Americans were funny things, and cowboys funnier still.

“That’s cause you ain’t got a lick of sense over in England,” Steve jibed good naturedly.

“Is that so?”

Steve smiled big, grabbing the last of jerky and tossing it to his deputy. “Yes, sir. God bless America, I always say.”

* * *

**1873**

It  had been a cool summer’s night when Thor caught Loki running away. He hadn’t been able to sleep and decided on a midnight stroll around the manor.

“You can’t leave,” Thor told him. “What about mother, father?”

“Father doesn’t care about me at all,” Loki replied. “And mother – she’ll understand. She has to.”

Thor didn’t argue. He had heard all of Loki’s reasoning for weeks, their arguments gaining momentum until they couldn’t look at each other without a biting comment on their tongues.

It grew worse whenever their father tried to speak civilly to Loki.

The pain was still fresh. Loki was not an Odinson. The truth had surprised them all, or rather, the boys. His adoption had been the last straw, and no matter how often Thor tried to reassure Loki that they were still brothers, poison had seeped into Loki’s heart.

The inheritance was Thor’s, and Thor’s alone; Loki wouldn't continue on as the second son, leaching off his brother, and living his life as a wastrel, taking away from his future nieces and nephews. He wasn’t going to be a burden further to his family. America was the land of opportunity, and Loki was going to take it.

“You’ll write, won’t you?”

“What for?” Loki asked. “Celebrate my disappearance, Thor. Embrace it.”

“I’ll come looking for you if you don’t,” Thor threatened. He meant it too. He'd search the globe for Loki. 

Loki smiled. “Alright you oaf, if you insist.”

* * *

**1876**

They were camped out under the stars, roasting a rabbit over the fire.

“There ain’t much to tell,” Steve said, wiping the dirt from his face. Two weeks they’d been traveling, chasing rumors and speculations. The town would keep without him - them. Loki was nowhere to be found and Steve had made a promise. “Born in Brooklyn, moved west when I  was about twelve. Was the most exciting and terrifying journey of my life.”

“Just fell into being Marshal?” Thor asked, curious. 

Steve took a long draught from his water skin. “They needed a good man for the job, and I was as good as they came.”

“And now?”

“Still pretty good,” Steve grinned. He grinned a lot, Thor noticed. Sometimes he found something funny and grinned at him; didn’t laugh much. Other times it seemed his face just fell like that, no matter how bad things got, there was that damned smile, and Thor wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

“Sometimes I wonder what I’d have become had I stayed out East,” Steve admitted, staring up at the stars, taking in the vastness of the universe. “But out here, it’s too beautiful, too real. I can breathe out here. Sure, there’s trouble, but there’s trouble everywhere.”

* * *

 

He was being followed.

He usually kept to the shadows, pulled his hat down, feigned a drawl: half the men out here were ex-Confederates, and what was one Southerner to another?

He’d stride into town sometimes, pockets full of gold, jingling as he walked and all the ladies would turn to him and he’d wink at them, enjoying their swooning. Most folks didn’t know who he was, which served his purposed wonderfully.

But sometimes, someone would look at him strange and then he’d know he was recognized.

Plenty of men had come looking for him. $3000 was an unthinkable price, and it boosted his ego much more than it should have. He’d gotten his wish. Whenever someone heard his name they quaked with fear, and Loki relished every moment of it.

Maybe he’d stay put for a while. Let the gentlemen find him. They wouldn’t last long.

* * *

Thor held a makeshift cold compress to Steve’s eye, tutting all the while.

“Can’t help it,” Steve murmured, flinching as Thor pressed harder on the bruise. Thor took the compress away and gave Steve a disappointed glare. “My biggest flaw, Odinson,” Steve continued. “I can’t back down from a fight.”

“There were eight of them, Rogers,” Thor huffed.

“I had it under control,” Steve replied. “I always do.” He grinned. Always grinning.

“You should’ve called me,” Thor continued. “That fight could have ended much sooner.” How many fights had he interceded on Loki’s behalf? Only Loki pushed too far, expecting Thor to help, to pummel the culprit to the ground. Not Steve.

Thor was used to using his brawn, but merely as a defensive. He never picked a fight, as long as it wasn’t with his friends.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve asked. He hissed in pain as he pressed a finger to his eye. He checked himself over in a mirror and frowned at the cut on his brow.

Steve always seemed to enjoy getting in fights. Sometimes Thor could understand. He’d backed Steve up enough times to realize Steve didn’t like bullies. You talk wrong to a lady, or a child, or someone weaker, or outnumbered, and in would come Steve to save the day.

Most times he’d win, other times Thor would have to pull him out and take care of the situation himself. Steve would never back down.

He wasn’t a small man, which Steve admitted was surprising, seeing how sickly he had been as a child. Reason they moved out west, he’d said, cause of the consumption that settled in his lungs as a boy. Now he was big and strong, and had a justice streak a mile long.

Thor admired that in him.

* * *

They found him in a small town just north of Hoosier Lake, swindling a man at cards. Thor hardly recognized him.

Loki had gotten thinner, if that was at all possible, but he was muscular, unlike how he’d been back home. His pale skin was hardly tanned, but his hands were rough and his smirk had lost all of its pleasantness.

“Brother,” Thor had breathed out in surprise. Loki had looked up and blanched, quickly recovering, but for someone who’d known Loki his whole life, Thor saw the flicker of fear.

They met outside later that night, once the moon was high and any interlopers were either drinking to their hearts content or passed out, cushioned by the bosom of a whore. Just the two of them, face to face, Steve keeping watch some feet away.

“You stopped writing.”

“I didn’t think you fool enough to follow,” Loki replied. “Couldn’t just write me off as dead?”

“Come home, Loki,” Thor pleaded. “Mother misses you terribly, as do I.”

“I’ve made a home here, brother,” Loki stated. “I have anything and everything I could possibly want.”

“You’re a murderer,” Thor pointed out, ashamed of the man his brother had become. Glancing at Steve, he wondered how the West could make monsters and heroes out of men.

Loki tutted, bored with argument. “I am lots of things, Thor. Go home. Tell them I’m dead.” And with that he walked away, leaving Thor alone in the dusty road. And in that moment Thor had the urge to let him go, pass him up and head home, tail between his legs. 

He heard the horse gallop away rather than saw, and Thor knew Loki was gone, off into the desert where Thor couldn't follow. 

Steve tutted, pulling Thor away from where he was frozen and led him to their room, pulling off Thor’s boots and unbuttoning his shirt, as if undressing each other was a common occurrence. “I can arrest him, if you’d like,” Steve said. “I know I said I wouldn’t interfere, but he’s a wanted man, Thor.”

Thor grabbed Steve’s wrists, stilling him from his task. Under the gas lights, Steve looked like an angel, and Thor couldn’t help but lean forward and taste his lips, breathe him in, and let the whole world slide away.

* * *

The next morning, Thor slid out of bed and pulled on his trousers, tiptoeing down to the front desk where he asked the matron of the hotel for a sheet of paper and a pen if she had one.

Steve awoke alone in bed to the scratching of pen on paper. He opened his eyes to spy Thor sitting at the desk, scribbling away. He stretched, relishing the burn of his backside and the very pleasant cracking of his back.

“What you doing?” Steve asked. Thor handed the letter over and Steve skimmed the writing.

 

_Dear Mother,_

_I'm still searching. The country here is vast and there are thousands upon thousands of people. I shall not give up, however, and so I will remain in the States until I find him. I am confident he still lives. He is merely lost. We shall be back home soon, I am certain._

_All my love,_

_Thor_

 

“Not giving up?”

Thor shook his head. “We’ve got a man to arrest,” he said instead, picking up Steve’s own pants and throwing it at him. “Marshal.”

Steve grinned, a real true grin. “Yes sir, Deputy.”

**Author's Note:**

> just realized i used injun as a descriptor of indians, but know that that is merely time period slang and i would never actually say that. okay.


End file.
